The
Hummingbird Repair Kit
Love is not a reversible belt.
Even if it keeps you from exposing yourself
it doesn’t go with everything.
In the Kingdom of Swoon I borrowed
the moon and refused to give it back. Who
among us, I might ask, hasn’t struggled with
the furniture? It is a spotty perspective we
face together, without a powdered clock to
do our bidding. There is nothing more dramatic
than pulling out bulbs before they bloom.
When crutches become a kiss we lean on it.
I know how much you would like to argue the
benefits of passivity but if we didn’t already
have goodness and grace, among us, someone
would have to invent it. Perhaps we are gilding
the lily too often but the question remains: Do
I need another acrobat swinging from my
chandelier? Laundering the Shroud will not do.
I still have nothing to wear to the crucifixion.
Even the best get-laid plans get dashed—
The hummingbird cathedral is closed for
alterations. Someone is painting the Sistine
Chapel with finger-paints and there are
fingerprints all over the Santa Maria.
The pigmy band is rehearsing for the party
and my dog is keeping a journal of my every
move. Has anyone seen my feather duster or
did the hummingbirds run off with it again?
Copyright © 2007 Jack Conway
